


The Kinder Charm

by captainevilpants



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon compliant up until 1981, First War with Voldemort, Harry Potter was Raised by Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond, Raising Harry Potter, Wolfstar raises Harry, sirius and remus are occulmens, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-03-20 09:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13714995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainevilpants/pseuds/captainevilpants
Summary: There are certain rare magical abilities that cannot be created artificially. Occulmens, Parseltongues or metamorphmagii are born, not made. In each generation, there are only a handful of each, scattered sporadically around the world. These abilities are so rare, the odds of meeting even one occulmen in a lifetime was astronomically low. And two occulmens meeting, well. That was just impossible.It's the wee hours of November the first, 1981. Sirius and Remus are summoned to Dumbledore's office, and told to decide. They must either mend their estranged friendship and raise Harry together, or give in to their stubbornness and pride, and send Harry off to live with the Dursley's. In the end, there's only one answer.Raising Harry AU, eventual Wolfstar





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> look y'all instead of finishing something i started a new story entirely
> 
> i sense a trend

There are certain rare magical abilities that cannot be created artificially. Occulmens, Legilimens, Parseltongues or metamorphmagii are born, not made. In each generation, there is only a handful of each, scattered sporadically around the world.

These abilities are so rare, the odds of meeting even one legimens or parseltongue in a lifetime was astronomically low. And two individuals with such rare gifts meeting, well. That was just impossible.

***

Sirius Black was born a natural empath. He could tell when someone was sad, or happy, or angry, often before the person realized it themself. Being both empathic and magical, Sirius was a natural legilimens. But his traditional, pureblood family thought little of the softer magical arts, and he grew up unaware of his ability.

In fact, he didn’t even realize his ability was unique—not until he met another person who shared his gift.

***

Remus Lupin grew up as a werewolf first, wizard second. When he first accidentally read his mothers mind at the age of four, he was waking up in St. Mungo’s the morning after being bitten. 

He frequently attributed his uncanny senses as being a byproduct of his affliction—his strong sense of smell, his thick, ridiculously fast growing hair. Mind reading was just another one of those weird werewolf things, he thought, even if it wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the Encyclopedia of Magic. Strangely enough, the only other person Remus would ever meet who shared his ability was not a werewolf, but a dark-haired wizard with laughing eyes.


	2. In the beginning, there were two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> backstory and exposition, and like, feelings 
> 
> Remus and Sirius realize their occulmens

_19 March 1973_

 

Sirius had discovered the trick accidentally in second year. The night before the full moon, Sirius heard pained murmurs coming from the next bed. He pulled back the thick bed hangings and crawled into bed. “Shhhh,” he whispered.

 

“It hurts.”

 

“I know,” Sirius whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

 

He placed a gentle hand on Remus’ damp forehead. He wished he could take away the pain, or at least do something to help ease it a little. He started thinking about the things that comforted him when he was hurt— cozy blankets, the sound of rain, the smell of a dying fire.

 

“How are you doing that?”

 

Sirius looked down Remus’ tangled honey-colored curls. “Doing what?”

 

“There’s…you did something. It’s warmer now.”

 

Sirius chuckled. “I think that’s just body heat.”

 

“But it feels soft. And it smells…like campfire.”

 

Sirius paused, caught off guard. “Well the house elves lit the fireplaces earlier.”

 

“But it’s not raining.”

 

***

 

_28 June 1974_

Sirius had experienced the trick for the first time in third year.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing.” Sirius was laying facedown on his bed. It was the last day of term, and he needed to pack. He had been avoiding it all morning, choosing instead to sulk behind the crimson curtains on his four-poster bed. He didn’t want to go home.

 

“C’mon you’ve been moping.”

 

“Haven’t." 

 

“Have.”

 

“Haven’t.”

 

Sirius heard a loud sigh and felt a dip in the bed. Then, there was a soft hand on his arm, and the angry thoughts that had been plaguing his mind all morning were getting softer. They were being replaced with that Queen song he loved, and the smell of cinnamon and the feel of a warm shower.

 

“How are you doing that?” he asked, incredulous.

 

“Doing what?”

 

“That—that thing.”

 

There was a pause. The hand disappeared from his arm, and all the unpleasant thoughts came flooding back. “You can feel it too?”

 

“Yes. Put your hand back,” Sirius commanded.

 

“I dunno if I like it.” But the gentle hand was back on his arm. And so were the taste of hot chocolate and the brightest blue imaginable and the feel of snowflakes falling on your face.

 

“Does this happen to you a lot?” Remus whispered.

 

“No. Just with you.”

 

Warm butterbeer. Leather. Running your hands through your hair.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Sirius asked after a moment.

 

“I don’t know. Just you, I guess.”

 

***

 

_30 October, 1975_

 

It took them a while to figure it out.

 

“I think it’s just like, really bad legilimency,” Remus said, finger following a line in his book.

 

“Why’s it really bad?” Sirius asked, pouting. “I think it’s pretty cool.”

 

“Well,” Remus said, pausing to finish reading a sentence. “Well I think when you’re actually, properly trained, you can control when it happens.”

 

Sirius grunted, noncommittal. “It only happens with you. I don’t need to control it.”

 

Remus tried to suppress his smile. He read a bit further down the page. “And you can do occlumency, too," he said.

 

Sirius leaned over to read the passage. "What, block people out? What's the point in that? Why would I want to block you out?"

 

Remus leaned back in his chair, quietly contemplating the laundry list of times when he would have chewed off his own arm to block out invasive, wolfy thoughts. He studied Sirius for a moment, his handsome face, his broad shoulders, his easy confidence. Sirius might not see a use for occlumency, but Remus certainly did.

 

"I wish I could do occlumency," Remus admitted. 

 

Sirius’ face momentarily fell into an expression of hurt. "Why?"

 

"Not because of this," Remus said quickly, gesturing between them. He was not being entirely honest with Sirius, considering there were quite a few private thoughts Remus had about Sirius that would be mortifying for him to find out. But Remus thought keeping that particular secret was for Sirius’ own good, as much as his.

 

Remus sighed. “Not everyone is like you, Sirius,” he said. “There are some things I don’t want the whole school knowing.”

 

Sirius nodded, and then awkwardly changed the subject. "So then, if it's not proper legilimency, then what are we doing?"

“The book doesn't really say. I guess it’s just like, the kid version. You know, like when you’re little and do accidental magic.”

 

Sirius thought about that for a moment. “Can we learn to control it? Around other people?”

 

Remus squinted at another paragraph, eyes moving quickly. “It seems really difficult. The only point of learning would be if we wanted to do it to other people.”

 

Sirius grinned, a familiar glint of mischief in his eye. “It’d be cool to read minds.”

 

Remus couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you really want to go digging around in James’ mind? Or Pete’s? Honestly the payoff does not seem worth the risk of accidentally catching James when he’s thinking about Lily.”

 

“Ergh,” Sirius grimaced. “Guess it’ll just be our thing then.”

 

“Sounds good to me."

 

Sirius stood, stretching. "Let's get out of here. I need help picking out an outfit for my date.”

 

But Remus shook his head. "I want to read more about the occulmency stuff. Not to use on you," he added quickly. "But just, you know. In case."

 

Sirius shrugged, and turned to leave. "Have it your way Moony," he said over his shoulder. “I don't want to keep Emmeline waiting.”

 

Remus pretended not to hear him.

 

***

_2 June 1977_

 

It was the morning after the prank. Sirius was desperate.

 

“Please just—just stop and listen. Please.”

 

“No. Let me pass, Sirius, I mean it.”

 

But Sirius couldn’t let him go, even as Remus tried to stalk away. Sirius darted out and grabbed his wrist. He thought of how sorry he was, of how much he needed—

 

But there was nothing.

 

Sirius sucked in a breath of shock. “You said you wouldn’t—“

 

But Remus cut him off. “That was before, when we were friends.”

 

Remus tried to twist his wrist out of Sirius’ grasp, and Sirius held on tighter. “What are you saying, Remus?”

 

Silence.

 

“Let me go.”

 

And Sirius did.

 

***

 

Slowly, they repaired their broken friendship. Occasionally, when they brushed hands passing potions ingredients or sitting next to each other on the couch, Sirius would catch little snippets. A color. A texture. But just as soon as he thought he felt it, Remus would jerk his hand away and Sirius would plunge back into the dark.

 

***

 

_31 July 1980_

“You’ll both be godfather,” Lily said, beaming.

 

“How does that work?” Remus asked, looking at Sirius with raised eyebrows.

 

Sirius rolled his eyes at him. “Relax, Moony. I promise I’ll sleep on my side of the bed and always pick up my socks.”

 

Remus chuckled. “I’ll do anything for Harry, even live with you, Pads. But let’s make one thing clear. I get my own bed.”

 

“But you’re always so cold Moons, really I mean feel your hands. “ Sirius grasped Remus’ hand in his own.

 

“I swear to god you two act more married than me and Lily,” James said, laughing. “You’re even holding hands.”

 

Sunshine. The smell of cut grass. Opening Christmas presents. Firewhiskey. Skinny dipping. Finishing a book.

 

But Remus and Sirius didn’t hear him. “If you get any more excited you’re going to explode,” Sirius teased.

 

 “I just can’t believe they want me to be godfather too,” Remus muttered. “I just…I…”

 

 “Course it’s you two,” James said, oblivious to the moment. “But you don’t have to get married. Unless you want to.”

 

 Remus rolled his eyes, and took his hand out of Sirius’. “Unless both muggle and wizarding law changes, I don’t think I’m ever getting married,” Remus said dryly.

 

 Sirius shrugged. “It’s only illegal if you get caught.”

 

 “Oh, that’s rich, especially coming from the straight, Pureblood aristocrat. Tell me Pads, how exactly do you plan to co-godparent from Azkaban?”

 

 “Obviously I’ll escape. Harry will understand.”

 

 “Let me make one thing clear,” Lily interjected dangerously. “If either of you two leave my son alone in the unfortunate but very likely event I’m tragically murdered, I will—“

 

 Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance, before speaking in the same moment. “We know.”


	3. And then there were three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Remus have to decide-- forgive and trust each other, or send Harry to live with the Dursley's
> 
> Sirius' perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY if my magical logic makes no sense

1 November 1981

Sirius was sitting in Dumbledore’s office for the first time in over three years. It hadn’t changed much— Sirius thought there were quite a few more dark wizard detection devices scattered about. But that was less a comment on Dumbledore’s housekeeping and more a testament to the war, the constant mind-numbing danger and the inevitable fiery destruction of all that was good in the world.

Sirius was sat in a large squashy armchair. It was very comfortable, but unfortunately clad in ugly paisley upholstery. He was exerting a great deal of effort to avoid noticing the equally ugly plaid armchair to his left, as well as the person sitting in it.

He absent-mindedly realized he was holding a cup of steaming tea, though he couldn’t remember being served. He stared at it for a moment, watching the delicate wisps of steam spiral endlessly into the air.

Sirius jumped when Dumbledore cleared his throat. He looked up from his cup, and saw the Headmaster studying him carefully.

“Thank you both for coming.”

Sirius scoffed. Dumbledore made it sound like he was a gracious host, welcoming his guests to a casual garden party. In reality, Sirius had been tracked down in Diagon Alley and forcibly apparated into the castle. The grumpy looking house elf who had collected him hadn’t so much as offered a courtesy “mind the gap”.

Dumbledore smiled, looking guilty. “I apologize for the…er…manner in which you were brought here. But given the circumstances, it was of critical importance that you both speak with me immediately.”

“How?” Sirius demanded angrily. “I was hidden pretty fucking well where I was, there were wards up that no one should have been able to break—“

Dumbledore held up a hand. “Though the Trace is typically lifted once a wizard comes of age, there are ways to circumvent the conventional age limit.”

“You mean the law,” Sirius snapped.

“Yes,” Dumbledore replied simply. “As I said, it—“

“Right, right, was of the utmost important. You always have a reason. But what I don’t understand is how this is any fucking different from what he does.”

Sirius leaned forward, anger rising like bile in his throat. Dumbledore and his master plans and his secrets. Sirius was sick of it.

“It’s not any different,” Dumbledore said.

Sirius felt his jaw drop. “What?”

“I agree. What I did is not any different from what Voldemort does to his followers.”

Sirius’ mouth was still hanging open like a broken Nutcracker. “What?”

“Mr. Black, if I am to understand things correctly, you were posed and ready to attack Mr. Pettigrew the moment he left the Leaky Cauldron. Is that true?”

“Yes, but—“

“And you would have not, shall we say, come quietly? Had I approached you and asked you to abandon your post?”

“Fucking obviously.”

“But it is, as I am about to explain to you, of significant importance that we speak now. And I do not mean significant importance to me, or you, or even the Order. It is of significant importance to your godson,” Dumbledore paused.

Sirius felt a dull blush creep up his neck. How dare Dumbledore talk about Harry like Sirius wouldn’t do anything for him, without hesitation or question.

Dumbledore looked at the other armchair before continuing. “Forgive me for making the assumption that you would want to do what is best for Mr. Potter, even if the ends did not necessarily justify the means.”

“Fine, whatever. You had to get us—me – here. I’m here. What do you want?” 

Sirius tried to ignore his momentary lapse. There wasn’t any us anymore, he reminded himself harshly. There isn’t anything anymore. James and Lily are dead. Peter betrayed them. Harry is all I have. He didn’t allow his thoughts to go any further than that.

“It is about what has to happen next,” Dumbledore said slowly.

“What has to happen next?”

“Well,” Dumbledore hesitated. “It’s a bit complicated.”

“How is it complicated? He’ll live with me.” 

Sirius thought this entire ordeal was unnecessary bullshit. Although he would never admit it, Dumbledore had prevented him from making a grave mistake. Peter was alive, and everyone knew he had been the one to betray Lily and James. There wasn’t anything to prevent him from caring for Harry—so why was Dumbledore acting like there was?

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Dumbledore repeated. “Mr. Black, you are Harry’s godfather.”

“Thanks, but I was actually aware of that already.”

Sirius felt a hot wave of anger. Dumbledore was always so calm, so stoic. Just once he wanted to wipe that neutral expression off the old mans face.

“I’m sure you were,” Dumbledore replied evenly. “As I am sure you were aware you are not Harry’s sole godparent.”

No. “No.”

“No?” Dumbledore looked politely puzzled. Sirius wanted to slap him. “I was under the impression that Mr. Potter and Ms. Evans had you named in the same ceremony.”

Sirius felt like he had been frozen, veins screaming in pain as they were filled with ice. “You know they did,” he said. “You were there.”

Dumbledore inclined he head slightly in acknowledgement. “Yes.”

“He can’t have him.” The words tumbled out of Sirius’ mouth before he could stop them.

“Well, I’m afraid neither can you,” Dumbledore replied.

“Why the ever loving fuck not,” Sirius shouted, standing up from his chair.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the figure in the plaid armchair shift forward slightly. Dumbledore’s face remained as impassive as ever.

“As I have said, he has two godparents—” Dumbledore held up a hand when Sirius opened his mouth to interrupt again. “Mr. Black, I must ask you to keep quiet until I have finished. This is old magic, ancient magic that I don’t fully understand myself—“

“Shocking,” Sirius scoffed.

Dumbledore continued, as if he had not heard him at all. “The Kinder Charm is very similar to the Fidelius and Patronus Charms. In fact, one might even call them triplicates in many ways.”

“For example, all three charms must be housed inside a living human soul. They are also powerful protections against dark magic, and in many ways, infallible.”

Dumbledore paused, looking contemplative. Sirius thought he knew what he was getting at, but refused to believe what Dumbledore was saying could be true.

“When Mr. Potter named you godfather, the Kinder Charm bonded you to Harry and imbibed you both with an unbreakable magical vow. The oath you took that day not only meant you were agreeing to act as guardian, should anything happen to Mr. Potter or Ms. Evans.”

There was a sharp intake of breathe from the plaid armchair. Dumbledore paused again, giving them a moment to process.

“The oath also created a magical force meant to protect Harry. This force lives inside of you, Mr. Black, much in the same way a Patronus lives inside the witch or wizard who casts it.”

“James chose me,” Sirius said quietly. “James chose me to protect Harry.”

Dumbledore nodded. “In a manner of speaking.”

“I still don’t see the problem. A wizard can only choose one person for the Kinder charm. It’s why James and Lily had to cast them separately, so that me and—“ he trailed off.  
There was an awkward pause. He cleared his throat, not looking at the plaid armchair. “So that there could be two godparents.”

“Exactly. Two godparents,” Dumbledore smiled at him. “By casting the charm separately, they imbibed two souls with the magical force meant to protect Harry. It is unusual—many witches and wizards feel that two godparents weakens the charm.”

Sirius felt a hard lump form in this throat. “James thought the opposite,” he said thickly. “Lily too.”

“They were not wrong,” Dumbledore replied gently. “At the very least, the Kinder Charm still works the same way with two souls as it does with one. I believe that Mr. Potter and Ms. Evans identified a factor in the charm that many witches and wizards ignore.”

“What factor?” Please don’t let it be love.

“Choice,” Dumbledore smiled at him. “You can tell a great deal about a wizard based on the choices he makes. If two wizards were to choose to come together to protect a child, I do believe it would make the charm stronger.”

Sirius felt the wave of realization. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed sagely. “Oh.”

“So that means…we…”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head Mr. Black, or so they say. In the event that two godparents are chosen, both must come together for the charm to work. Under different circumstances, such troublesome magical nuance wouldn’t matter. However, Harry is in a unique and extraordinarily dangerous position.”

Sirius glanced at the plaid armchair. “What would it mean? For the godparents to come together?”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, fingers tented under his chin thoughtfully. “I think it would mean they would have to raise the child together. Be a family. Love and care for the child, and to a certain degree, each other.”

There was another awkward pause. Dumbledore gave a funny little cough before finishing. “Though I don’t think there are any…er…specific romantic obligations.”

Sirius felt his ears pink, and the plaid armchair gave a loud squeak. “Er,” he mumbled. “Right…well. What if the godparents can’t? Do that?”

“I need to know that you are both unwilling to do this.” Dumbledore turned to the plaid armchair. When he had the confirmation he needed, he turned back to Sirius.

Sirius hesitated. “I want to know what the alternative is first.”

Dumbledore nodded. “There is an alternative that would offer similar protective charms.”

Sirius frowned. “And what would that be?”

“A similar magical bond is formed between blood relatives. It is like the Kinder Charm, but exists unintentionally—not in a person’s soul, but in their blood. Harry would have to live with someone who is directly related to him. There is only one surviving blood relative, I’m afraid. Ms. Evans sister, Petunia.“

Sirius was shaking his head before Dumbledore finished his sentence. “That awful woman? No. No way. Absolutely not.”

Dumbledore looked between Sirius and the plaid armchair. “I’m afraid this has to be a mutual agreement between the two of you. I’m also afraid you need to decide now. Hagrid is already escorting young Mr. Potter to his aunts house as we speak.”

Sirius tilted his head slightly to the left. The figure in the armchair was staring at him, but Sirius still couldn’t bring himself to look back properly. He saw the figure extend an arm towards him. And after a moment’s hesitation, there was a warm hand gently brushing his forearm. Sirius closed his eyes.

Clean laundry drying in the sun. Freshly dug dirt. Warm milk. Baby powder. Harry laughing for the first time.

At long last, Sirius looked back at the plaid armchair. Grey eyes locked with hazel for the first time in too many months. He gave a tiny nod and Remus let go of his arm.

“Mr. Lupin? Mr. Black? I’m afraid time is of the essence.”

After a beat, Remus finally spoke for the first time.

“How fast can we get to Surrey?”


	4. The twitchy tailed beast of Number 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore & the boys head over to Private Drive, and the story picks up with the first chapter of HPatPS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soz, this is not abandoned, i'm just slow and busy. this is mostly a filler chapter, but in the next the boys get harry and have to figure out their newfound domesticity.

 The residents of Privet Drive were pathologically ordinary. Men went to work at boring companies, driving expensive company cars and ugly wool suits. Women stayed at home, fussing over the children and making rude comments about everything they saw fit. The children were terrible, minute versions of their parents, many of them already bitter about their future prospects of becoming accountants and bankers.

 

It was an unspoken rule on Private Drive that change was bad and should be avoided at all costs. Any matter of change was hotly debated, assessed and put off for as long as possible. Therefore, in the event of any new development, the entire neighborhood was alerted within a quarter hour.

 

The stray cat of November 1, 1981 was no exception. By half past seven, the entire neighborhood was alerted to the presence of the peculiar tabby cat, who had set up camp in front of Number 4.

 

Despite the collective distain of the animal, no one actually did anything about removing the beast, save for some early morning phone calls and disapproving looks. Everyone assumed that the neighborhood dowager would be along to collect the stray eventually, and resolutely declared the matter “not my problem”.

 

However, when Mrs. Figg shuffled by the cat on her daily trip to the corner store for litter and canned tuna, she did not cart the tabby away with her. Instead, she greeted the twitchy tailed beast politely, as if the cat were a respected professor, and not a menace to society.

 

“Hello Minerva,” Mrs. Figg said, tugging her shopping basket behind her. “I’ll just pick up an extra can for you then, shall I?”

 

The cat shook its head. Or at least, that’s what Mrs. Quigley of Number Six thought, as she peered through the lacy curtains of her kitchen window.

 

“Alright then,” Mrs. Figg replied. Apparently Mrs. Figg had also seen the odd twitch of the cat’s head, and interpreted in as a polite decline of her lunch offer, rather than some nefarious neurological tick. “Well let me know if you change your mind.”

 

The cat, as far as Mrs. Quigley could tell, did not move for the rest of the day. It was a strange sight, to see a cat sat so stiffly on a hard stonewall. If one were the type to assign human characteristics to animals, which she was not, she would have thought that the cat appeared impatient. Perhaps even a touch indignant.

 

Hours passed, and yet the cat was still perched stiffly on the wall when Mr. Dursley returned home from work. The stray particularly perturbed him, but his attempts to shoo the cat away proved unsuccessful. In fact, after attempting to push her off the wall with the end of his rolled up newspaper, the cat fixed him with a stern stare that was strongly reminiscent of his primary school headmistress. He gave up after that.

 

Eventually it grew dark, and the various residents of Privet Drive prepared for bed. The streetlights flickered and the last ruffled curtain was pulled shut. But still the cat waited, eyes fixed on Number Four.

 

As if alerted by some sort of silent alarm, the cat’s head snapped to the other end of the street. After a moment, there was a loud _crack_ and three figures appeared. The cat stared acutely at the trio, assessing if the newcomers were friend or foe.

 

The tallest figure, an old man with long white hair and a matching beard, pulled a lighter out of his pocket. The other two men watched curiously as the old man flicked the lighter open. Suddenly, as if by magic, every streetlight was put out with a single twitch of the old mans thumb.

 

The sudden and absolute darkness was of no concern to the tabby cat. She continued to observe as the three figures strode towards her. The old man caught her eye, and winked.

 

“Professor McGonagall,” the old man said, his tone unsurprised. “I should have expected you would be here.”

 

The cat stood, stretching stiffly. As she stood, her body changed, elongating, stretching impossibly. After a moment and a trick of the near black night, the tabby cat was replaced with a stern looking witch.

 

“Professor Dumbledore,” she said briskly. She rose from the stone wall and brushed out her long, emerald greed robes.

 

Professor McGonagall’s eyes fixed severely on the two young men standing beside Professor Dumbledore. They both looked distinctly uncomfortable to have attracted her attention, but the taller man matched her gaze calmly. The other man stared somewhere beyond her left shoulder, grey eyes hazy and unfocused.

 

“I am glad to see you Mr. Lupin, Mr. Black. Thank Merlin Professor Dumbledore was able to talk some sense into you two.”

 

 


	5. The Flying Motorbike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harry arrives 
> 
> up next, domesticity and arguing

Neither Remus nor Sirius had much of anything to say in response to Professor McGonagall. They both greeted her politely, but the entire party fell silent soon after. Professor McGongagall did not seem eager to force more conversation upon them, and Professor Dumbledore, never one to be particularly bothered by awkward or uncomfortable situations, hummed tunelessly to himself. 

As Remus waited, he could feel the impatience radiating off of Sirius. He tried to block it out, tried to set up the wall he had learned how to build unintentionally all those years ago. But after an agonizing half hour, he realized he could not. 

Whatever defense he had developed against the connection he and Sirius shared was absolutely and completely demolished. Remus stubbornly attributed this to exhaustion, and refused to consider the alternative. If his 16-year-old anger was enough to build a mental wall, then his 21-year-old fear should be enough to sustain it. Right?

Sirius made an agitated sound and opened his mouth. Remus suspected he was about to ask how long they were meant to wait, or how exactly Hagrid was transporting Harry. But Sirius never got the chance. Instead, there was a deafening mechanical roar, like a very old, badly repaired engine, and everyone’s head snapped eastward. Remus cocked his head, confused by the familiarity of the sound. Where had he heard it before?

Headlights broke over the horizon, and Remus felt his stomach clench in a horrible realization. 

Hagrid was riding a motorbike. A flying motorbike. There was another horrible splutter, like a goose honking into a megaphone. It was a very specific sound, the kind machinery makes when it’s been tampered with magically. 

Sirius’ motorbike.

Remus knew it that Hagrid using Sirius’ bike could only mean one thing. 

Sirius must have gone to Godric’s Hollow before seeking out Peter. 

If Remus were a different man, a less stubborn man, he may have allowed himself to feel something for Sirius in that moment. It must have been unspeakably horrible, to sift through the wreckage, to witness the atrocity in person. Remus almost allowed himself a moment of compassion. Almost.

But then, fueled by spite or anger or some other unspeakable emotion, Remus found himself caught in the impossibility of another universe. In this terrible alternate reality, Sirius would have succeeded in finding Peter. Sirius would have been sent to Azkaban. And what about Harry?

Harry would have been sent to his horrible Muggle relatives, doomed to a childhood of abuse and neglect. Remus had to suppress the urge to scream. 

Instead, he watched the motorbike descend towards the pavement, consoled by the fact that Sirius had been stopped, Harry was safe and he was not alone.


	6. A Cottage in Wales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys arrive at their new digs and no one knows how to change a nappy

Sirius trudged through the marshy wetlands of Wales, clutching his godson in a vice-like grip. He was absolutely terrified of tripping over a log or a toad or his own two feet, but resolutely refused to give up his hold on Harry.  
  
“How much longer?” Sirius wheezed, attempting to cover up his shortness of breath with an unconvincing cough.

Remus, who was ambling along like they were out for a leisurely after tea stroll, paused and glanced up at the starry sky. “We’re almost there.”  
  
Silence fell, as thick and heavy as the humid night air. Sirius continued to stumble along beside Remus, his irritability growing with every squelchy footstep. “Why Dumbledore had to choose Wales is beyond me. I mean honestly, has he ever even been here? It’s like a giant mud puddle, only with more mud.”  
  
Remus’ lips were pressed firmly together and his dark hazel eyes betrayed nothing but a singular focus on finding their destination. “Like I said, we’re almost there."

After another five minutes of walking, though Sirius would swear on his life that it was at least an hour, they finally arrived. The small cottage hadn’t changed much, as far as he could tell. The front door was still a bright cherry red, there were still a few loose shingles on the roof and the garden fence leaned slightly to the left.

Remus walked up the front steps, and had his hand on the doorknob before he caught Sirius’ eye. His face must have betrayed his nerves, because Remus’ hand dropped back to his side and his expression softened slightly. “He knows we’re coming,” he said. “You agreed this was the best option.”

Sirius gulped down a breath of fresh air, cursing himself for being such a pansy. “I know,” he said quickly, trying to sound a hell of a lot braver than he was actually feeling. “It’s just…it’s been a while.”

Remus’ eyes were downcast, but Sirius thought he saw a flicker of hurt. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper. “I know.”

—

As Remus walked into his childhood home for the first time in over a year, he was overcome with an inexplicable sense of calm. Even though his mum had passed in his sixth year, the house still contained a bit of her presence that never failed to soothe Remus’ mind, regardless of the circumstance. He walked down the small entryway and into the kitchen, surprised to find it empty.

“Dad?”

“Up here son,” came a distant voice. “I was just getting the cot ready, I’ll be down in a mo’”

Remus put the kettle on and busied himself with fixing two cups of tea. When he turned back around for the sugar bowl, Sirius was sat at the polished kitchen table, still clutching Harry with both arms. Sirius was glowering at him, a bit of mud smeared on his left cheek.

“Don’t I get a tea,” Sirius demanded grumpily.

“Oh shit,” Remus said reflexively, turning to grab another cup from the cupboard.  
  
“Language boys, please.”  
  
Lyall Lupin stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking exhausted. He was almost as tall as Remus, with grey hair, lopsided spectacles and a stuffed bear in one hand. He looked between Sirius and Remus for a moment, pale blue eyes shining with tears of relief and sadness. “It’s been a hell of a night,” he said gruffly.  
  
Remus made to walk over to embrace his father, but was interrupted by an earsplitting wail.

Sirius was attempting to hold Harry somewhat gently, but Remus was surprised he managed to keep his grip on the toddler at all. Harry was kicking his chubby legs violently, and emitting the most excruciating scream imaginable. Remus recognized the sound immediately, and knew Harry was due for a changing. Sirius had typically avoided this task like the plague, but when Remus gestured at him to take Harry, Sirius shook his head. Harry let out a particularly shrill shriek and all three men winced in unison.

“Er,” Sirius said awkwardly. “Nappies?”

Lyall nodded, eyes wide and slightly panicked behind his spectacles. “Upstairs, first door on your right.”

Without another word, Sirius hurried out of the kitchen, carrying Harry with a grim look of determination.

Remus tried to catch his dad's eye, but Lyall seemed to be focusing on listening to Sirius' thundering footsteps. There were a few moments of relative silence, punctuated only by Harry's persistent screams. 

_CRASH_

Harry's screaming stopped, and Sirius' voice shouted out a hasty "it's fine!" 

Remus hesitated for a moment.

“Maybe you should—“ Lyall started.

“Yeah,” Remus sighed. “He never did master the whole nappy changing technique.”


	7. A Sirius Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius' birthday passes quietly, which is all he wants.

Sirius stumbled down the stairs, tangled hair bouncing in his eyes. Not that the hair was doing much to obscure his field of vision, considering the absolute absence of light in the house at the moment. It was nearing two in the morning, and although Harry had miraculously fallen asleep several hours earlier, Sirius remained wide awake and restless. He had sat by Harry's crib for nearly five hours, hoping his godson's gentle snoring would lull him into sleep. 

He shuffled into the kitchen and pulled a mug down from the cupboard. He was careful not to make too much noise, but the house had been quiet for a while. Although he had spent the past few days in the Lupin's house, and would be doing so for the foreseeable future, he still wasn't entirely comfortable using things without asking. He didn't want to be caught using the kitchen, even if Mr. Lupin would be fine with it. 

He plonked a teabag into the mug and used his wand to fill it up with hot water. He carried the steaming mug to the table, and startled slightly when he saw a figure already sitting at it. 

Sitting was a strong word. Remus was slumped over in his chair, head hidden by his long arms. Sirius resisted the urge to chuckle at the familiar sight. How many times had he found Remus in this exact position, slumped over a pile of books in the Gryffindor common room? Sirius looked around the table and immediately found what he was looking for-- a mug of cold milky tea. He scooted it out of the way carefully, the back of his hand brushing against Remus' jumper. His hand lingered slightly, and Sirius stopped himself short of running a hand through Remus' soft curls. He shook his head slightly, trying to shake out the sudden desire. He needed to get a grip on himself. This was Remus. Nothing had changed in the past few days, and things were still tense. 

He considered taking his tea back upstairs, but a sudden wave of exhaustion rolled over him and all he wanted to do was sit down. SHe'd never admit it, but the sleeping presence of Remus calmed him considerably. He slumped into the closest chair, and he soon felt himself nodding off. 

***

Remus woke up to his back aching. He was getting to old for falling asleep in funny positions, and his back would definitely be bothering him in the morning. He groaned, and lifted his arms above his head to stretch. He was surprised to see Sirius sitting across from him, head lolling slightly to the side. 

"Padfoot?" he whispered. "Padfoot?"

But Sirius was obviously too deeply asleep to hear him. Remus considered waking him up, but Sirius had been so uncomfortable the past few days, tip-toeing around the house like he wasn't welcome. Remus knew that if he disturbed him, Sirius would probably interpret it as Remus being cross with him or something. Sirius was always doing that, assuming Remus' concern was distain or judgment. 

Things had remained icy between them, that was undeniable. Being put up by his dad had temporarily exacerbated things, and made Sirius even more guarded than before, if that was even possible. Remus was trying to mend things the best he could, for Harry's sake. And maybe, just maybe, a bit for himself as well. 

Remus stood from the table, doing his best not to wake Sirius. He had meant to go straight upstairs, to the room he and Sirius were temporarily sharing. But instead, he found himself walking quietly around the table, towards Sirius. 

Remus looked down at his friend, feeling heavy with the emotion of the past few days. Without thinking, he reached up to brush back Sirius' hair from his face. It was an unconscious gesture, something he had done countless times before. As he tucked the lock of hair gently behind Sirius' ear, Sirius let out a small sigh of contentment. Remus withdrew his hand just enough so that he wasn't touching Sirius' skin. His fingers stuttered slightly as he felt a familiar feeling stir deep in his stomach, and he pulled his hand back quickly. He took a step back, shaking his head.

"Goodnight Sirius," he said softly. "Happy birthday."

And with that, Remus turned to leave. He walked quietly out of the kitchen and started to make his way up the stairs.

Sirius' eyes fluttered open. He watched Remus as he walked up the staircase. 

"Thanks, Moony."


	8. An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes uneventfully for a brief moment, before the boys are called upon by an unexpected visitor.
> 
> This is a short little chapter, but I have a long one planned next!

Time passed meanderingly, abstractly. Snow fell, the winter holidays passed, and for a brief moment, things were cautiously mundane. The four men of the little cottage fell into a domestic routine.

Remus, ever the early riser, was the first one to wake up every morning. Not too long after his first cup of tea, Harry would wake up. Lyall liked to refer to Harry’s morning wail as his “personal alarm clock”. A few minutes later, he would come shuffling down the stairs in his slippers, looking grumpy, and carrying Harry. 

Once the sun was good and up, Remus would bring Harry back upstairs to wake Sirius. Harry would crawl around on top of the covers, babbling and tracking jam all over Sirius’ hair. Sirius would pretend to grouch, and Remus would chastise him for lying about until all hours of the day. Harry would giggle and munch on his toast. Lyall would smile knowlingly over the Daily Prophet, catching snippets of the familial exchange from his seat at the kitchen table.

But the habits Remus and Sirius had picked up in the war lingered—jumping at the sudden whistle of the kettle, checking litter for traces of portkey magic. Lyall was a pillar of strength for the boys, clicking the stove off for Remus when he was frozen in panicked memories, vanishing the bins each night so Sirius could pass by the empty containers without suspicion. Lyall worked tirelessly to ensure that all the scars of war had a chance to heal, visible or not.

It was nearly spring before another wizard called upon the tiny cottage. Sirius was, rather unfortunately, the one to open the door. He had been expecting the milkman. It was not.

“Dumbledore."


End file.
